


now that i can breathe; i don't really want to

by littlemagician, orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Codependency, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemagician/pseuds/littlemagician, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They finally give in and let gravity do its work; let themselves be carried, pulled into their course of collision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now that i can breathe; i don't really want to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [despicableliz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/despicableliz/gifts).



When it ends and they’re in Abu Dhabi, it happens faster than Nico thought.

Dried tears on his face, the frustration and disappointment; the pain and the craving, it doesn’t—

He gets himself together and his feet carry him somewhere he’d been longing to be.

His hand on the nape of Lewis’ neck, thumb caressing skin. The smile Lewis gives him is a mix of unsure and rehearsed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s—

This, the way Lewis looks at him. The way Nico aches and Lewis is the reason and the cure. How he thinks he’s ready to give him up every time, but he knows that’s never happening. Their lives are vines, entwined, entangled root deep in one another. It cuts sharply through skin every time they try to rip themselves apart with bare hands. They never learn.

Dried tears on his face, he smiles at Lewis more genuinely than it looks like.

-

The rest is a blur. There’s talk and press and more talk, and all of it feels disconnected from his body, but he plays the part. He’s good at playing the part. Nico, how are you feeling after—

Nico, have you and Lewis—

Nico, what are your plans for—

There’s a celebration, too. He goes through it. He talks and smiles, says _‘There’s always next year’_ so many times it feels like a printed pattern on his tongue.

Later, hours later, they finally give in and let gravity do its work; let themselves be carried, pulled into their course of collision.

“It suits you,” Nico starts, and Lewis waits for a moment. He can see the outlines of his shoulders moving, and it looks like he’s taking a deep breath. Nico notices he’s not surprised by this, somehow knowing they’d find themselves there at the end of the night. They know, but they never learn.

“What does?” He asks when he finally turns around. Night air fills Nico’s lungs.

“Victory.” He says simply. Time doesn’t freeze for them to look at each other, but Nico will be damned if it doesn’t feel like it.

“I have to go.” Lewis says, but it doesn’t feel like he’s running away.

“I know.” It’s all the answer he gives.

Lewis’ shoulder brushes against his as he walks past him, and he knows what he’s doing.

-

It’s been long since it’s happened for the last time, but Vivian goes visiting his mother and the house is empty, so Nico misses Lewis and it hits him like a punch in the stomach. He shouldn’t—

It’s not fair his home holds more memories of Lewis against him than—

Lewis sprawled on his couch, head on Nico’s lap, focused on some awful action flick on the TV. Lewis knocking on his door, brushing past him and making himself at home. Lewis walking in with his spare key when he knows Nico is alone, opening his fridge and criticizing his choices of food like his own fridge isn’t empty. Lewis—

It’s not fair, but he’s done being mad at him. He’s done.

He pulls his phone out and texts him.

_I never liked brazil nuts but you liked them so i always bought some_

It’s stupid, and it’s true.

It takes two days for Lewis to text him back.

_i can’t find them anywhere in London_

Nico smiles despite himself.

-

On New Year’s Eve, he calls before he can talk himself out of it.

“Where are you?”

“New York,” Lewis answers, and his voice doesn’t sound surprised that Nico’s calling in any way. “With Nicole and some friends. You?”

“London,” Nico answers. “When are you going back to Monaco?” Lewis is silent for a second, as if taken back by the question.

 “Soon. I’ll let you know.”

There’s a pause on the line, cautious, calculating. It’s weird, how everything hits him suddenly, everything that’s happened between them in a year, and there are a million things he wants to say.

I never meant to—

We should—

I wish we could-- 

“Happy New Year, Lewis.” He says, because none of them feels right, not like this. Nico doesn’t make new year’s resolutions, but he’s on the verge of doing so.

“Happy New Year, Nico.”

-

It sends a coded message, he knows it does, but it’s so obvious that no one sees it. It’s more of a press move than anything. _Have you made your peace with Hamilton? Good, make it known._

It’s on Instagram and he knows everyone will see it. Including Lewis. He thinks, why not. Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he’ll ignore it.

He could’ve chosen any picture, a recent one, a personal one. He could have, but—

They were young, so incredibly young. Times were easier, and maybe that’s the only memory they have of that, the only when times had ever been easy.

_“30!! Have a great party! This day is good for me. You are old now, so hopefully it will be easier for me this year :-)”_

Nico thinks, maybe time made Lewis wiser, because it didn’t do it for him. Maybe Lewis is ready to let it go for the two of them, because Nico isn’t. Maybe it’ll be easier to accept that everyone needs a place in the world, and theirs—

Lewis is the one who calls.

“Easier, how?” He says as a way of greeting, and he sounds frustrated, the way he breathes out the words.

“I don’t know. How’s the birthday going?” Nico answers calmly. Lewis sighs in defeat.

“Are you coming?” There’s still frustration hidden underneath his voice, but he’s trying not to push, Nico knows that, it’s so familiar to him. He does that when he wants to know something.

“Will you be waiting?”

“I—Yes. We can sneak out. Talk.”

Nico finds himself laughing effortlessly. “We’re not sneaking out, it’s your birthday party. We’ll talk when you get home.”

“Fine. Ok.”

Nico doesn’t know why he does that to himself, why he allows himself to, but he’s smiling at the wall like they’re not reliving the cycle. Like this time they won’t crash and burn again, maybe this time they won’t. Maybe—

Maybe they’re not boys anymore, boys who don’t know how to love.

“Lewis?”

“Yes?”

“I mean it. Maybe this time will be easier.”

“I’d like that.”

“I know,” and after a beat, before he hangs up; “Happy birthday, Lewis.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK NICO ROSBERG WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS also this is really confused


End file.
